I met a Havanese today.  To me it was just Dog.  A big-house-of-course-dog type of dog.  Happy, well fed, and so very loved (so obviously loved).  Sure, I’ll pet’im…


I’ll pet’im…


He likes it.


He likes it.


And I keep hearing the kind of dog and I don’t care ’cause I don’t know.  And it makes me think of Cuba, though I’ve never been.  And I mention it and I guess I’ve been listening.  Because Havanese comes from Havana.  The national dog of Cuba.  Who knew anybody had a national dog?  Who knew Cuba did?  And then I’m in love.  And we both come from the Atlantic.  From El Caribe.  And our family’s felt those temperate waters, that balmy breeze.  And I, I have to, I’m sweet to ‘im in Spanish and the room laughs…  though I don’t think it’s funny.  And I wonder why he’s here.  Why we’re here.  And I’m told he’s well sought out: great pet, doesn’t shed, blahdeeblablah.  And I know how far from home we both are.  And I’m told to not be fooled, that his “people” are maybe from there but he’s from Pennsylvania.  And I say I know where he’s from. And I love him up in Spanish.  And he loves it.  And is still for me.  Painting still.


So soft.


3 thoughts on “Habanero

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